wistful expression that had in it something of nobility
and pride. I watched her; at the conclusion of her dance she held up
her tambourine with a bright but appealing smile. Silver and copper
were freely flung to her, I contributing my quota to the amount; but
all she received she at once emptied into a leathern bag which was
carried by a young and handsome man who accompanied her, and who, alas!
was totally blind. I knew the couple well, and had often seen them;
their history was pathetic enough. The girl had been betrothed to the
young fellow when he had occupied a fairly good position as a worker in
silver filigree jewelry. His eyesight, long painfully strained over his
delicate labors, suddenly failed him--he lost his place, of course, and
was utterly without resources. He offered to release his fiance from
her engagement, but she would not take her freedom--she insisted on
marrying him at once. She had her way, and devoted herself to him soul
and body--danced in the streets and sung to gain a living for herself
and him; taught him to weave baskets so that he might not feel himself
entirely dependent on her, and she sold these baskets for him so
successfully that he was gradually making quite a little trade of them.
Poor child! for she was not much more than a child--what a bright face
she had!--glorified by the self-denial and courage of her everyday
life. No wonder she had won the sympathy of the warmhearted and
impulsive Neapolitans--they looked upon her as a heroine of romance;
and as she passed through the streets, leading her blind husband
tenderly by the hand, there was not a creature in the city, even among
the most abandoned and vile characters, who would have dared to offer
her the least insult, or who would have ventured to address her
otherwise than respectfully. She was good, innocent, and true; how was
it, I wondered dreamily, that I could not have won a woman's heart like
hers? Were the poor alone to possess all the old world virtues--honor
and faith, love and loyalty? Was there something in a life of luxury
that sapped virtue at its root? Evidently early training had little to
do with after results, for had not my wife been brought up among an
order of nuns renowned for simplicity and sanctity; had not her own
father declared her to be "as pure as a flower on the altar of the
Madonna;" and yet the evil had been in her, and nothing had eradicated
it; for even religion, with her, was a mere graceful sha